


My Milkshake Brings All the Cops to the Yard

by HellenHighwater



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: All pairings are implied - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Criminal Law, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Modern Era, Public Defender!Valjean, javert has a crush, mentions of fantine - Freeform, mentions of thenardier, only characters actually present are javert and valjean, prosecutor!Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellenHighwater/pseuds/HellenHighwater
Summary: ...and they're like: "Throwing milkshakes at fascists is technically illegal."It's a perfectly normal day in the courthouse, and Javert is the unlucky prosecutor stuck dealing with the charges for a bunch of students who threw milkshakes at a Nazi. Valjean is the public defender representing them.(It's a self-indulgent lawyer!AU with absolutely no plot.)





	My Milkshake Brings All the Cops to the Yard

**Author's Note:**

> Valjean shouldn't have all of Les Amis as his clients becuase it's a conflict of interest, but he does because it's easier for me if he does. I mostly wanted to write this because 90% of media portray defenders and prosecutors as mortal enemies, when the reality is that they're much more amicable with each other than you'd expect.

Javert shoved his armload of files further back onto the conference table, dragging his coffee closer and wrapping both hands around the mug. The precarious heap of paperwork threatened to topple across the overcrowded table, but Javert was too busy staring into the boiling black liquid and debating if the draw of immediate caffeine would be worth the scalded tongue. Probably, he thought, today was going to be an exceptionally unpleasant one. An alt-right group had attempted to stage a protest at the local college campus and been met with vigorous resistance. Dozens of arrests had been made on both sides.

He took a generous gulp of coffee and immediately regretted it.

Javert’s scrupulous punctuality guaranteed him his preferred seat in the courthouse law library, where all the attorneys met for pretrial conferences to discuss their cases. There was exactly one seat that had a view of both the library door and the hallway to the judge’s chambers, and Javert habitually arrived ten minutes early in order to claim it every time. From this seat Javert presided over the prosecution’s side of the table. The other assistant prosecutors had trials, so Javert was able to spread his files in organized heaps all over. A few detectives and deputies lingered near one end of the table, waiting to be called as trial witnesses. Fantine, the victim advocate, had left her paperwork at the other end. Her tower of files was even taller than Javert’s. The two of them had never gotten along, but Javert had to admit a grudging respect for her ruthless organizational skills and refusal to allow anyone to talk down to her, lawyer or not. She would come up later in the morning to help deal with the domestic violence and sexual assault cases.

Javert hissed a breath over his burnt tongue, set down his coffee, and turned at the sound of the library’s security door beeping open.

It was the public defender, arms full of files and battered briefcase slung over one mountainous shoulder. There was a steaming cup from the local coffeeshop in his left hand, and it smelled fantastic, unlike the courthouse sludge in the mug in front of Javert. Javert would have frowned if his face were not already locked in a scowl. Of course it would be Valjean—who else would they assign to a bunch of broke, bleeding-heart college students?

Valjean took the seat opposite Javert and tucked his feet under the chair. He knew that Javert liked to stretch his legs out under the table to ease the lingering nerve damage in his left leg which had ended his police career. Javert adamantly refused to acknowledge the courtesy. “Valjean,” he grunted, and burned his mouth again on a second sip of coffee.

“Good morning, Javert. How was your weekend?”

“Long. Was on warrant duty. You?” 

“Cosette and I went shopping! We had a lovely time. It’s always wonderful to spend time with her.”

“No new suits, I see.” Indeed, Valjean was wearing one of the same second-hand suits that Javert had seen him in a dozen times. The poor tailoring made the man look even more hilariously broad than he was to begin with, and completely disguised the fact that Valjean was a millionaire. Or had been, at least. These days he seemed to live off his modest public defender’s salary. Even so, Javert knew he could afford better suits. Where he kept finding these thrift-shop monstrosities was a mystery. Today’s was a shade of buttery tan so warm it was nearly yellow.

“No, but Cosette found a couple lovely dresses. And I like this suit! It’s summery!” As always, Valjean took Javert’s teasing with a beatific smile. Javert admitted to himself that the combination of suit, salmon shirt, and pale blue tie did make the ex-con look like a July sunrise, topped with a fluffy cloud of wavy white hair. Somehow he made the look work for him.

“It’s _something_ ,” Javert grumbled, and reluctantly exchanged his coffee mug for the first pile of files. God, Valjean was such a morning person. It was terrible. “Who’ve you got first?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. They gave me the whole group of college students from this weekend—or at least, the non-Nazi ones.”

“Who got lucky enough to represent the Nazis?” Javert asked.

“Thenardier.”

“Ha!” Javert barked. Thenardier was the absolute worst type of defense attorney. To call him a snake would be an insult to snakes. He was a swindler, a liar, and terrible at his job in basically every respect. Javert was convinced he’d somehow cheated on the Bar exam. “Finally, a client he deserves!”

Valjean indulged in an unusually satisfied grin in response. He wasn’t usually the sort to revel in other’s misfortune, but…Nazis and scam-artists? It seemed a perfect match. And it spared him from having to represent a Nazi in court. “I’ll admit I’m relieved.”

“I’m not—I’ll still have to deal with Thenardier. But I suppose I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing he must be as miserable as I’ll be. Do you have all of the students then?”

“I’ve got Enjolras, Grantaire, Joly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly, Prouvaire, Bahorel, Bossuet, Eponine Thenardier, and Musichetta. But not Marius. Was he charged with anything?”

“Pontmercy? No, no one would admit he was there. The officers were pretty sure he was, but they couldn’t get anyone to corroborate it. They were sure his friends were lying, but they couldn’t prove it.”

“It’s possible, his friends are very loyal and they know he’ll never get into law school with a criminal charge on his record.”

“Hm. Maybe. It’s what—assault and battery for all of the rest of them, for the milkshakes—” Javert had seen the evidence photos and hadn’t been able to suppress his smirk. The group of students had thrown milkshakes at the swastika-wearing rally leader. They’d gone to the effort of dying each milkshake a different color, and the victim had come out looking like Pollock’s version of a Pride flag. “—and then there’s a resisting and obstructing an officer charge for Grantaire, and an inciting charge for Enjolras.”

“Yes, that’s essentially it. They’re just children, Javert, and their hearts are in the right place.”

“Vajean, Grantaire took a swing at an officer.”

“He missed!”

“He still tried to punch an officer. And really, Valjean, he should know better—he’d have just had the misdemeanor assault and battery if he’d cooperated. Now he’s got this felony resisting charge! It’s not like this is the first time either.”

“They were arresting Enjolras, and you know how he gets about that boy. It’s sweet, really.”

“It’s a felony. And he’d been drinking. You _know_ he was, Valjean.” He hadn’t been tested for alcohol, but Javert knew how to read between the lines of a hastily-written police report. The signs were there, and it would have hardly been the first time Grantaire had been caught with alcohol in his system.

Valjean’s earnest expression crumpled into an equally earnest concerned frown. “Honestly, it’s quite possible. I worry about him, Javert, it’s not healthy to drink like that.”

“It certainly isn’t. It’s even more unhealthy to be taking swings at armed officers.”

Valjean smiled at Javert’s dry commentary. It was as close as Javert got to an outright joke. “Has he been through the sobriety court program yet? Sister Simplice works wonders with the groups at the recovery home.”

“My records say he hasn’t, but there’s nothing stopping him from being eligible for it.”

“Would you consider it as part of a plea offer for him? I really do think he’d benefit from it, and his heart was in the right place.”

“It’s not his heart I’m worried about, it’s his fists. But yes, I’d consider it.”

“Come now, Javert, he threw a milkshake and tried to defend his boyfriend! Be merciful.”

“Merciful? Me? And I’m quite certain that they’re not dating, anyway.”

“Are they not? I just assumed….”

“Well, based on the police reports, it seems not. Grantaire seems convinced that the sun rises and sets at Enjolras’s whims and Enjolras seems too busy singlehandedly reforming society to notice.”

“You can’t deny that there’s obvious chemistry there. You were a detective, you notice things.”

“I never said there wasn’t. And who knows, they spent a couple nights in a cell together this weekend, maybe they sorted things out.”

“Javert!” Valjean beamed, “You closet romantic!”

Javert nearly snorted scalding coffee out his nose. “Yes, that’s me,” he drawled, trying to cover it up, “Cupid with a badge and gun. Here for love and justice.”

Valjean let out one of his rare, booming laughs. Javert tried desperately to not think about the fact that he would do almost anything to hear it more often.

“For Grantaire, I’ll offer to dismiss the felony resisting charge if he’ll plead to the assault and battery misdemeanor; I’ll not oppose a recommendation for sobriety court. If he completes it properly, it’ll wipe the assault and battery from his record.”

“Would you do the same for Enjolras? With the inciting charge and the assault and battery? Without the sobriety court, of course, I don’t believe that boy ever touches alcohol.”

“The inciting charge is a ten year felony, as you well know, which is quite a bit worse than the resisting charge.”

“ _Milkshakes_ , Javert, at a _Nazi_.” Valjean’s face became the definition of pleading. On anyone else Javert would have assumed it was a manipulation--and even from Valjean, years ago, he would have assumed the same. A lot had changed since then. He knew now that Valjean genuinely believed in goodness, and felt deeply for the people he represented. Javert sighed. If the ex-con ever knew how effecting he was to Javert, Javert would be in deep trouble.

“An assault is an assault, no matter who the victim is! But fine. I’ll drop the inciting charge if he pleads to the assault and battery, and only because he doesn’t have a record. And he’s eligible for the Youthful Offender Act, which I won’t oppose, so he can get that wiped from his record at the end of the probation.” Besides, Javert didn’t like his odds if he’d had to go to trial. Juries were unpredictable, but Enjolras was a charismatic young man. It wasn’t out of the question for them to return a not guilty verdict just because they were too taken with Enjolras, even through Javert had an airtight case. Better to offer a reasonable plea.

“Thank you, Javert! That’s very generous of you.”

“Yes, well,” Javert cleared his throat awkwardly and tucked a lock of grey hair back into his bun. “Like I said, love and justice.”

He was treated to the euphoric experience of Valjean’s open laughter for the second time that morning. It was too much. Javert took another mouthful of coffee and found that it had somehow gone directly from boiling to lukewarm. It was nearly undrinkable. Javert choked it down anyway.

“The rest of the students can plead down to disorderly person charges—it’s a ninety-day misdemeanor--instead of the one-year misdemeanor assault charges. They’re all eligible for the Youthful Offender Act anyway. I’ll not oppose it. But only because the victim was a _Nazi_.”

“Sounds wonderful! Thank you very much, Javert.”

“Yes, well. Beinview’s the judge on the bench this morning, it’s not like he would sentence them to jail time anyway. It’ll probably be probation and fines and costs for the lot of them.”

“Oh, lovely! That’s perfect, then. If you’ll write up your offers, I’ll speak to my clients and see if they’d like to take them. I’ll be sure to tell them how generous you’ve been.”

“Don’t, my reputation doesn’t need the hit.” Javert bent his head and began copying information from the files into pretrial conference forms. His handwriting was as ruthlessly neat as ever—he’d never allow himself to be so sloppy that the clerks and judges struggled to read his plea offers.

“Have you seen the evidence photos?” Javert asked, scribbling a signature at the bottom of the first file.

“I haven’t had the chance, they weren’t attached to my copy of the police report.”

Wordlessly, Javert slid a file across the table. Valjean flipped it open and failed to suppress a giggle that absolutely should not have come from someone so barrel-chested. “Oh! I shouldn’t laugh, but…”

“He looks like he was vomited on by an entire Pride parade.” Javert filled in.

“You can hardly see the swastika under all of it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Javert said, signing the last document, “He got a five-year felony charge for unlawful assembly, and I don’t think I’ll be feeling particularly generous when Thenardier comes in to negotiate a plea.”

He passed the pile of paperwork to Valjean, who smiled gratefully. The files were added to the armload Valjean was gathering up. “I’ll go speak to my clients and get back to you, but I think they’ll all take the pleas. It really is the best outcome for them. And here,” Valjean slid the untouched paper coffee cup he’d carried in across the table to Javert. It smelled like heaven. “I thought you might need it. Thank you, Javert!”

Javert watched Valjean sweep out of the conference room and only then allowed himself to take a sip from the carryout cup. It was the perfect temperature, fixed just he way he liked it.

He could _almost_ convince himself that the blush staining his cheeks was from the steam.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love and Justice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886627) by [TheLifeOfEmm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeOfEmm/pseuds/TheLifeOfEmm)




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